


You're Welcome, Presley

by Jayj456



Series: Thank you, Elvis [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Graphic Description of Corpses, Love Confessions, M/M, Public Sex, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayj456/pseuds/Jayj456
Summary: 8 years later...Even crawling around the pits of hell Daryl can still see his face. The widen crystal blue eyes, sapphires in the night and of course his everlasting kindness that brought Daryl from the brink of despair.Daryl tries not go to there—tries not to think too passionately about him and how in the end everything came crashing down around them.





	1. I do unto others what has been done to me.

~*~

 _You’re Welcome, Presley_.

~*~

 _2 years later_...

The eyes are the windows to the soul.

All that glitters is not gold and the rest of that horseshit he was told growing up. Those phrases, euphemism, colloquialisms or whatever means absolutely nothing in this new world. Daryl doesn’t think too much about that anymore—doesn’t dwell on what is and what isn’t.

A murky sky spans out before him, endless and vast.

It has to be sometime before dusk, the shadows in the grass grow and the light is fading beyond the horizon. Daryl thinks, absentmindedly about nothing in this world being either good or bad, but thinking makes it so or something of that sort.

Except in this world everything is bad and nothing is good and thinking makes absolutely no difference when a rotting corpse is trying to eat him alive. For some paradise has come, the dead have risen and there is life after death. Is it a paradox? Or the worst kind of fucking irony to ever come into existence? He doesn’t know.

What else is there to contemplate besides the living dead and the dead living?

The past makes no difference.

Daryl tries not go to there—tries not to think too passionately about _him_ and how in the end everything came crashing down around them.

Even crawling around the pits of hell Daryl can still see _his_ face. The widen crystal blue eyes, sapphires in the night and of course _his_ everlasting kindness that brought Daryl from the brink of despair.  

Daryl bites his lip, lowering his face deeper into the mud.

It’s one of those days—where the heat is upon him and he needs something to quill the aching feeling between his thighs. Of course Len is ready and available.

The second Merle and a few other men left camp Daryl was thrown onto his stomach, pants wrenched from his waist and fuck vigorously _raw_.

In fact Len is still panting above him, wheezing in his ear like some dying Chinchilla. He feels the slow drag of his cock thrusting in and out of his hole, the burnt and tender flesh making it unpleasant and nearly unbearable.

Through it all Daryl says nothing.

He’s learned long ago not to make a sound, especially when men are grunting on top of him. The noises and faces Len makes are sure to be monstrous, groaning and labouring like some half-possessed banshee.

For the time being he allows his mind to wander, watching the ants scurry around him or the worms dig into the earth. Nature truly is a beautiful thing and perhaps someday he’ll start enjoying this rustic life. When Len finishes he comes hard, wailing like a rabid buffoon. It’s all so tedious and Daryl stopped getting off with him years ago.

There is some noise in the distance and Daryl moves quickly to stand, pulling up his pants and taking a seat near the fire. Merle comes stomping through the forest with his latest kill resting on his shoulders. The rest of the guys make a raucous, speaking rapidly, excitedly ready to roast the plethora of dead rabbits and squirrels.

Len is already limping away, heading towards to treeline to take a piss or whatever the hell he does after they’ve fucked.

“Ya looky here!” Merle cries happily. “Got some good eatin’ fo’ ya boy.”

“Some good pickin’s,” Dan grins. “It’ll last us a few days.”

“Oh wee,” Lou howls. “Alls we need is some hot sauce and this would be like them cookouts we had back in the day.”

“Come on Daryl,” Merle nudges his shoulder. “Let’s skin these fuckers and eat ‘em up, ya ain’t nothin’ but skin and bones these days.”

Nobody says anything about his recent black eye or split lip.

Or the way he barely eats anything at all. They say nothing when Len grabs his arm roughly or pats his ass in front of the crew when Merle is absent. The guys _never_ comment when Len nearly strangles him to death for daring to deny him sexual favors. Of course they are blind when Daryl can barely walk straight the next morning, but continue to bust his ass for not keeping up with the group.

No, Merle wouldn’t notice anything like that and hasn’t noticed for years.

Daryl does what he’s told and doesn’t comment further. As he is skinning one of the squirrels he feels eyes on him and he doesn’t need to look up to know exactly who they belong to.

The bastard is new to their group. Merle found them a few days ago and ever since then the guy has done nothing but _watch_ Daryl.

Negan stays away from the group most days, lingering in the back with his barbwire baseball bat and signature cigars. He seldom speaks, only to spout out commands or to talk softly with his own men.

At first Daryl thinks nothing of Negan. He was just a random hick like the rest of them. When Negan gaze began to dawdle, haunting his footsteps he found it unsettled him.

Those copper eyes were too inquisitive; too wide, too threatening, hiding a deeper malevolence that terrified him. Negan’s Cheshire grin, pepper salt hair and ivory skin did nothing to quill his growing panic.

However, there isn’t a point in getting worked up over nothing. Daryl focuses on skinning the squirrel, studiously ignoring the auburn eyes on him.  The blood stains his hands and the smell of cooking food begins to outweigh the stench of rotting flesh.

The evening light blends and wanes, ultimately settling into pure darkness.

Daryl stares at the aging fire, observing the ambers flicker and slowly die. In the abyss he finds those brown eyes again, staring disturbingly right back.

~

Whatever _this_ is it needs to stop.

They share looks every so often, brief and strident but so profound and meaningful that Daryl is forced to look away. Negan doesn’t say much these days, barely utters a word but when he does stillness settles over the group of men.

Merle doesn’t like him.

He spits tobacco at his feet and openly sneers at Negan over minor things. The group is starting to notice the tension. Even Daryl observes the way Negan grinds his teeth impatiently, or how his fingers tighten around his bat.

That grin, however remains in place, unnaturally as if a tempest could come through and he’d _still_ be smiling. Merle despise it, he doesn’t hesitate to let Negan know every chance he gets.

The months bleed and blend, turning into to autumn. Daryl loves this time of year, ever since he was a child there is nothing like watching the leaves rot off and fall.

Sometimes, when he is face down in the dirt with Len thrusting wildly on top of him, he’ll imagine his life before. Daryl would often visual the soft feathery kisses in the morning or ice cream at midnight. Those memories are buried deep, pushed way down for when Daryl can scarcely stand this life anymore.

The killing and the savagery of men isn’t surprising at the end of the world.

Their group in particular have raped several women, beaten them down, tore their clothes off and watched them turned into the living dead. Daryl doesn’t like thinking about those woman, watching their faces mirror his own.

Their eyes reaching out to his, only to find that his soul is gone and there is nothing left.

Fortunately today is damp, aromatic with evergreens and mint leaves, a cool colliding mixture of cloudy and dank. Daryl takes off at dawn, eager to get away from the foul stench of the men. The walk through the wilderness is peaceful, there is a misty fog hovering the forest floor.

Daryl tracks quietly, letting his mind wander.

A twig snaps, his stomach wrenches violently and he doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s behind him. The few precious moments of tranquility vanish and he can hardly stop his hands from trembling as he turns around.

Len is there, of course, leaning proudly up against a tree.

“If ya wanted some time alone ya shoulda just said so,” Len grunts, his eyes gleaming. “We ain’t had a morning quickie since ya were twelve years old.”

Daryl doesn’t remind him that rape doesn’t constitute a quickie. The images reply in his mind like they always do, he never told _him_ how fucked up his situation with Len had been or how Len was his first client.

Long ago Daryl gave up speaking—he communicates mainly through grunts and shrugs. Besides it’s not like anyone cares what he says anyway.

“Let’s get to it,” Len spits. “C’mon boy I ain’t got all day.”

A large part of Daryl knows that disobeying will be worse for him in the end. Len out weights him and when he chose can be a powerful adversary.  In the beginning Daryl fought a lot, kicked and punched his way through, but Len always got the upper hand.

He doesn’t want to have sex—not today, maybe not ever.

Besides it was never very enjoyable with Len, most times it was downright nauseating. Daryl hated every second of it, desperately wishing he were someplace else.

Len takes a threatening step forward. “On yer knees boy.”

Now isn’t a good time to suddenly decide to be brave. Daryl knows he can’t win, logically he knows that if he loses things will be infinitely worse for him. Len won’t just take his body, but his soul as well.

For a brief second, he considers submitting, he contemplates getting down on his knees and opening his mouth wide to be filled with Len’s filthy cock.

The idea turns his empty stomach violently and it nearly makes him wretch bile.

 _When will it end?_ Since he was twelve he’s pondered that same question over and over again. The only time he was allowed momentary reprieve was when he was with _him_.

Daryl feels his chest hollow at the thought of his lover, probably dead by now.

“Don’t make this harder on yerself,” Len grunts impatiently. “Get on yer fuckin’ knees.”

There is nothing left now—nothing to fight for.

He feels the crushing weight of hopelessness consume him again and for a while Daryl stands there staring vacantly at nothing. This wasteland that he inhabits makes him feel gaunt, along with a kind of exhaustion that settles into his bones.

The stillness of the forest that called to him before now feels like a grotesque cage, a wilderness of carnage and pain he can never escape. Daryl allows his mind to wander back to _him_ , those precious nights, gazing auspiciously at the stars. There were vows of everlasting love and devotion, of freedom and passion.

For that memory alone Daryl guts his chin out, digging his heels firmly within the earth.

“No.”

“Whatcha say ya boy?” Len demands, the grip on his own bow tightening.

“I said no,” Daryl repeats loudly. “Go fuck yerself, I ain’t yer bitch no more.”

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Len sneers. “The bitch has claws? Where were them claws when ya where ten? Or how about last week when I fucked that sweet ass into the dirt?”

Daryl says nothing.

“Goddamn you Dixons,” Len mutters, striding forward. “Ya’ll ain’t nothing but shit.”

Daryl barely has time to react before Len gives him a switch punch to the gut. The move is low, winding him immediately, but Daryl quickly retaliates by head butting him.

The audible crunch noise echoes through the forest and Len crumples in pain as the bridge of his nose bursts with blood. Daryl is about ready to charge forward and kill the bastard while he is weaken, but someone grabs his arm roughly.

“What in the holy hell is goin’ on ‘round here?” Negan says, gripping Daryl’s arm.

“Get outta here,” Len sputters, clutching his broken nose. “This ain’t none of yer concern.”

Negan straights up abruptly, fixing his hard gaze onto Len.

“Oh,” Negan grins. “I highly doubt that. Since ya like fuckin’ so much I should wrap my dick up in barbed wire and call it Lucille. Would ya like that motherfuckin’ cock suckin’ piece of shit?”

“Fuck you,” Len snaps.

“Fuck me,” Negan laughs. “Oh, you wish you had my barbed wire cock up yer ass. However, we can do that another time. I’m sure Merle wouldn’t take to kindly knowin’ that someone in his ranks is fuckin’ his younger brother.”

Len glares at him and then spits blood on the ground. “This isn’t over.”

“Oh, this is so beyond over.” Negan responds. “Sometimes life is like toilet paper, you’re either on a roll or taking shit from some asshole. That asshole is me. Now I am goin’ give ya two options. One: you can fuck with Daryl again, but I can guarantee that you’ll be deep throatin’ Lucille before ya can get three feet in front of him. Two: you can back the fuck off and crawl back into that hole you came out of. There is no door number three and no barginin’ either. If I see you so much as glance at Daryl….well,” Negan grins. “Let’s not go there.”

Len retreats with the threat of vengeance burning in his eyes.

There is a long moment where nothing but silence stretches between them. Negan seems cool, dusting off his jacket before adjusting his knife.

“Why’d you do that?” Daryl asks quietly, his whole body is throbbing with pain and pulsating rage. He was furious that Negan prevented him from finishing Len off. However, the questions are burning  holes through his tongue.

“Who else will?” Negan shrugs, then walks away whistling.

~

Eventually blood will flow.

There are more men now, seemingly crawling out of the depths of hell, aching and eager to join their group of bandits. The first several are gruff, half feral, trying to regain their sanity.

Merle welcomes them openly, spouting orders and making it known that he is the leader. They fall in line quickly, doing most of the hunting and scavenging, however they are easily corrupted.

Daryl is walking one day when he sees them.

Five men that joined their group are crowded around Negan, most of them in various states of sitting and kneeling. The whole picture looks strange, almost revenant and Daryl feels like he’s intruding on some kind of church service.

Like spiders they scurry away when he walks by.

He wonders what’s brewing between the men. No doubt Merle pissed everyone off that they planned a munity. He wasn’t even the least bit surprised that Negan is who they choose as a leader.

The man has a natural disposition, standing well over six feet five, towering, a God among incest. Not to mention his lazy drawl, foul tongue and commanding presence.

He’s vicious, underlying poisonous sadism in his grin.

Daryl knew all about men like Negan.

And he wanted nothing to do with them. Hell, he’d grab Merle and run if he had to. It wasn’t worth losing their lives over something as fleeting as _power_.

A few days later they found a house.

Merle decides it safer for them all to stay in the living room in case a hord comes through. Most of men openly grumble and complain. Daryl keeps to himself, clinging to Merle more than usual. They divide the food up, making sure everyone has a decent size portion.

There was one rule in their group: don’t steal.

It was something that Joe had clung to during the early formation of the Claimers. Negan and his men were well aware of the punishment that came with stealing.

None of them caused trouble, although there was a strange malicious glint in Merle’s eyes whenever he gazed at Negan.

Something awful was brewing between them.

Merle would sneer loudly, spit and throw his weight around like a damn fool. While Negan watched, dark villainous eyes observing but never responding.

Of course the men noticed too and more and more of them were gravitating towards Negan. It was clear what he was doing, Daryl recognized it long ago.

Negan was building an army.

 _Fuck_ —he could practically see Merle hanging himself with his own noose. Shit was going to hit the fan and whoever was newby would be plattered with it.

By the time night falls tensions grow.

Merle suggest that they go out to get some firewood in order to keep warm. Daryl leaves with Dan and Merle. When they get there is pure chaos surrounding the house and Len so happens to be in the eye of the shit storm.

Everything happens so fast.

Negan spits words violently circling Len, the men scream and foam like wolves for blood. Merle is powerless, like an old dog realizing his time is up.

Of course it ends with Len’s face caved in by Lucille.

And Negan howling to the moon in victory. It’s sick, wrong so fucking wrong, they murdered Len in cold blood over a few cans of beans, the found in his backpack.

Which is crazy because everyone _knew_ Len was anaphylactic, he wouldn’t touch something that could kill him. Despite that they kill him, his brains were plastered all over the floor.

And Daryl was elated.

He stares at Negan like he’s a God or the Devil, where in this context means the same thing. For years he’s hated Len, imagined his death a thousand times and now he is absolutely free. In that moment Rick flashes before his eyes, strong jaw, gentle touches, whispers and promises in the dark. Years have past, smiles have faded and waned. 

It seems the more he loved the memory, the stronger and stranger it became. 

~*~


	2. Do unto others what has been done to you

~*~

_ You’re Welcome, Presley _ .

~*~

Black magic.

Daryl thinks, as he watches the flames dance around Negan’s face. The men are strangely complacent, lounging around eating and drinking. It’s been six months since Len was murdered and Merle receded into the shadows, allowing Negan to take over as their leader. 

The transition was hardly noteworthy, since Negan had began to rally men the moment they joined the group. Hardly anyone even took notice when Merle stopped barking orders.

What strange spell does Negan have them under? What kind of black cloud did he cast over their heads? Daryl isn’t precisely sure when, but after sometime things started to improve under Negan’s leadership.

They found a warehouse, cultivated it, cleared it of walkers and managed to implement a point system to keep the men from turning on each other. 

Negan’s rule was long and fruitful, and Daryl began to slowly flourish under it. They weren’t friends, nor were they enemies but something strange in between. 

Daryl had his own room, time to himself during the evenings and he spent most of his days hunting with the men. At night, that was when his heart would try to tear him apart.

Icy blue orbs stole his breath away. The thick musk of bodies colliding in the night, the touches, kisses and caresses that drove him mad in the heat of the moment. 

He agonized over  _ Rick _ , for hours and hours he thought of nothing else.  _ God _ — it was so damn painful. The only way to cure this hurt was to turn his heart into stone, or rip the organ from his chest. 

Either option seemed virtually impossible, but there was no way to escape it. There was no way he could outrun himself. Rick was in his veins, in every living cell of his body — _ ultimately the light of his life _ , when he yearned for merciful darkness. 

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into years and he starts to find a hollow comfort in the tender memories. 

~

Negan appoints Simon to his lead Commander.

A move Merle doesn’t take to kindly, however nobody really cares what he wants or thinks. Negan most certainly doesn’t and most of the guys in the group are loyal. 

They have expanded now to six factories, two colonies that they trade with provide them food, weapons and supplies while they provide them protection.

They call us the Saviors. 

Which is an extreme bastardization of the word, considering all they do is rape, pillage and force colonies into trading with them. They had over four hundred men at the main factory, while a few couple hundred are spread out at their other factories. 

They’ve done a lot over the years to bring people together, most of their ways are considered ruthless and unethical but there are no laws anymore. Rule or be ruled. Nothing ventured, nothing gain and so-on and so forth. 

Daryl joins the hunting party just to keep himself useful, while Merle drinks and smokes trying to regain his former glory back with some of the men. 

This morning he’s getting ready to go on a hunt with the men. He grabs his bow and all the other supplies he needs. These days he doesn’t wear much, just his standard black army pants, camo hunting boots and black long sleeve shirt. 

His hair is much longer, brushing his shoulder blades which he pushes back into a ponytail. The years have treated him kindly, long gone were his boyish features, he was a man now.

He turned eighteen last week. 

Daryl hurries to catch up with the crew, a group of six men and none of them are good at hunting. “Let’s move out!” Chris shouts, holding his AK-47.

They wander through the forest for several hours before Daryl begins to go off on his own. He gets three feet before Chris corners him. “Where ya goin’ Dixon?” 

“There ain’t nothin’ here,” Daryl responds. “We should checkout the pond to catch some ducks.” 

Chris is silent, his grey hair falling into his eyes. He was a kind old man, muscled, very large but harmless. “Duck eh? Haven’t had that in ages. Lead the way kid.” 

“Not a kid.” 

Chris chuckles, his eyes crinkling. “Sure, kid. You’re the best bowman I have.” 

“I’m yer only bowman.” Daryl mumbles, striding towards the pond.

They met several months ago while Daryl was still following Merle around. The factory itself was very large, there were a lot of new faces that made Daryl feel very uncomfortable to be around. He ran into a group of men having a meeting while he was trying to find Merle. 

Chris took one look at him and asked if he was coming hunting with them or not. He shrugged and since then has been a part of their group.

That evening they bagged several crates of Duck. 

By the time they get back the men are raucous, hooting loudly from their large haul. It’s the most food many of them have seen in months. The cooks make a feast and everyone is in a great mood. 

There is no sign of Merle when he enters the cafeteria. 

Which isn’t at all surprising. They rarely see each other these days and when they do Merle is in a foul mood. He rants to anyone that will listen how messed up Negan is and how he should be in charge.

The whole argument is exhausting. Daryl finds a seat by himself in the corner with his tray of duck meat and bread. The food is delicious and he devours it quickly, he doesn’t like to linger here. 

“Daryl,” Chris calls. “Just the person I was looking for. C’mere a minute.” 

He frowns slightly perplexed because they don’t usually speak outside of hunting. Regardless of that he gets up and walks towards Chris who is sitting beside a man he’s never seen before. 

“Daryl, this is Simon,” Chris introduces them. “This is the kid I was telling you about.” 

Simon’s smarmy grin widens. “Daryl right? Nice to meet you.” 

Daryl nods, doesn’t offer his hand immediately wary of the man. There is something about Simon that doesn’t sit right with him.“Yeah...what’s up?”

“You’ve done excellent work with the hunting party. Negan would like to congratulate you personally. As I’m sure you’re aware, Duck is Negan’s personal favourite.”

He didn’t know,  nor did he fucking care. 

“Whatever.” 

Simon leans back in his chair assessing him. “Good….I’ll make the arrangements.” 

~

Dinner with Negan consists of saute duck in a white wine sauce. 

The room itself is extravagant, red drapes over the panel windows which contrasted with the severity of the room. There were various weapons mounted on the wall, along with a large king size bed in the middle of the room.

Daryl sat at the dinner table, shifting uncomfortably around in the seat.

Negan was fashionably late. 

Three hours late to be exact. Which annoyed Daryl to no fucking end. Who the hell did he think he is?  _ Christ _ — he had better shit to do than wait for this pompous asshole. 

He huffs, grinding his teeth together. Fuck this. Daryl got up from his chair, heading straight for the door when it swung open. 

Negan stands in front of him in all his glory, smelling strong of leather and aftershave. “Daryl.” He says his name loudly, as if there were a large crowd in the room. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leavin’.” Daryl grumbles lowly. “I ain’t hungry no more.” 

“Did I ask if you were hungry?” Negan chuckles darkly. “Please sit, this dinner is in your honor.” He walks towards the table and sits down. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Daryl sighs, then walks back over to the table and takes a seat.

“Mhmm duck…. my absolute favorite,” Negan says, smelling the food. 

Daryl says nothing, regarding him closely.

“Gosh, it even taste delicious!” Negan bits into his food. 

“What do ya want?” Daryl demands. “This ain’t ‘bout no damn duck.” 

Negan grins. “To the point. I like that a lot Daryl, you’ve got balls kid.”

“I ain’t no kid.” 

“Whatever,” Negan waves his hand dismissively. “Fine. Do you want to talk business? Let’s talk. I want you to be one of my commanders.” 

What the hell? Daryl frowns visibly. This was not what he was expecting when he came here today. “Why?” 

“Why he says,” Negan rolls his eyes. “I’m offering you the job of a lifetime kid.” 

“You barely know me.” 

“I know what you  _ were _ .” 

Daryl freezes, his blood going cold.

_I love you regardless_. Rick's voice whispers in his ear. Those words had thawed his heart and weakened his resolved. God— he wishes things were different, but they aren't. The piss and shit rains high and low for Daryl and it'll keep coming until he dies. Negan has leverage now and he doesn't even bother to pretend otherwise. 

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Negan taunts. 

“The fuck ya takin’ ‘bout.” Daryl growls.

“You know what I’m talking about Daryl,” Negan says slowly. “I  _ know _ what Len did to you. Hell, I’ve witnessed it on many occasions.”

“Shut up.”

“Daryl,” Negan leans close, his arm braced on the table. “I won’t speak of it ever again. I just wanted you to know that I killed Len so that he would never touch you again.” 

There isn’t a word in that sentence that Daryl believes.

Negan never does anything for anyone else, that he knows for damn sure. Either way he’ll die before ever telling anyone what Len did to him. “What do ya want in return?” 

“Now we’re talkin’,” Negan chuckles. “I knew I liked you. We understand each other.” 

“Get to the fuckin’ point.” 

“I need someone to be the new commander for our hunting party.” 

Daryl stares at him completely puzzled. “Ya have Chris for that.” 

Negan shrugs. “He’s old, nice guy but old. I need new blood and he recommended you for the position.”

“And if I refuse?” 

“You won’t,” Negan replies easily. “Especially if you don’t want the other men knowing about your little  _ interactions _ with Len.”

The fucking bastard. Daryl huffs, weighting the pros and cons before nodding in agreement.

“Excellent. Now, get the fuck out.” 

~

“You?” Merle laughs loudly. “A commander of what? Ducks and squirrels?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Come on Darylina I was just bustin’ yer balls.” Merle chuckles as they walk down the corridor together. “It ain’t every day your baby brother becomes Chief in Command.”  

“I ain’t nothin’.” Daryl growls, readjusting the box in his hand while storming towards his new room which so happens to be closer to Negans.

The whole thing had to be some fucking joke. Besides the fact that nobody actually knew who he was. All the commanders were hand picked by Negan, known by most of the people in the Sanctuary and popular amongst the men. 

To put the icing on the cake most of them had a few years of leadership under their belt, while he had absolutely none. This was going to be a disaster. 

“Relax,” Merle says the second they step into the new room. “Alls ya gotta do is earn their respect. That’s the best way to get them to listen to ya. It ain’t hard, threaten the ones that step outta line and make sure ya don’t trust no-one.” 

“What words of wisdom,” Daryl grumbles, tossing the box on the bed. 

“I’m serious,” Merle answers, circling the room. “Men are like a pack of wolves. Ya wanna get the Alpha on yer side or else they’ll turn against ya.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“You’ll see soon enough….Ya were handed somethin’ good. Now make use of it. Get those fuckers to trust ya before we gut them like the filthy swines they are.” 

“What are ya talkin’ about?”

Merle stills, his face twisting into a sneer. “An uprisin’.” 

Daryl’s eyes widen and he quickly slams the door shut. “Are ya fuckin’ insane?” 

“No, I’ve got all my marbles thank you very much,” Merle says confidently. “We ain’t gonna take his shit no-more. I’ve got a few men interested and we are gonna — ”

“Shut up.” Daryl hisses. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I ain’t gonna be a part of this shit.” 

Merle snorts. “See I knew you weren’t fit to rule. Ya ain’t got the stomach for it. Always were a pussy.” 

“Merle,” Daryl snaps. “I’m warnin’ ya don’t fuck with Negan, okay? Just lay low and do what he tells ya.” 

The look in his eye tells Daryl that he’ll be doing no such thing. 

However, Merle relents by dropping the argument entirely. “Fine, baby brother. Whatever ya say.” 

~

He might as well be a helpless dove without feathers. 

“I — ugh, think we should head south….” 

The men are silent as they gaze at him blankly. Daryl stands before them in his usual attire, combat boots, army pants and black jacket only this time he is wearing Negan’s sigil. 

He’s officially their new commander. 

Chris had stepped down graciously, patting him on the back and giving him a kind smile of reassurance. Then he handed over his map and battle tactics before going back to the Sanctuary. 

They were quiet for so long things started getting awkward. “So...let’s….uh...move out or whatever.” 

“Quick question,” One of the men stepped forward, he was bulky, carrying an AK-47 and several knives on his hip.  “Who the fuck are you?” 

All of them laugh, making Daryl flush hotly. 

They knew damn well  _ who _ he was. Daryl has been hunting with them for nearly six months. Sure he never actually spoke to any of them and yeah, okay he was never good at making conversation but they knew him. 

Daryl clears his throat. “Chris...uh retired….he ain’t comin’ back….Negan put me in his place…” 

“Right,” The man drawls causing a few of his buddies to smile darkly. “And now we’re supposed to take orders from a shrimp like you?” 

The question alone made him bristle. 

Daryl could feel his anger rising. They didn’t respect him and most likely they never would due to his age, but he didn’t give a shit about that. 

He’s endured much worse. 

Somewhere deep rage flares inside him. They would use him, break his body like Len did and all the rest, all of the others he trusted and cared for. It’s all too much, all too fucking abrupt and he can feel the panic swallowing him whole like a tidal wave. 

However, the second he felt it coming he forced himself to breathe through it. Daryl wouldn’t allow them to see his weakness, not now and not ever.

He was done being a pawn, finished with being used and tossed aside. 

The years of rape, humiliation and physical abuse flash before his eyes. It strikes him quiet suddenly that these men have no idea who he is or what he’s been through. 

_ There’s nothing worse than an outdoor cat, who thinks it’s an indoor cat _ . The words are like a lightening crack in his ear drum and Joe dances nefariously before his eyes. 

For a moment he recalls Denise, the sweet therapist that spoke to him about the case with Rick. She threw around words like dissociation, which she then described as  resulting in one group functioning independently from the rest, multiple personalities dwelling in one single person. 

In short, he could be anyone he wanted. 

Daryl has the opportunity to start fresh and new, without being known as Dixon, the town whore.  _ Why not take on a new persona? _ Why not become the monster who stole his youth and raped him for nearly five years?  _ Why not? _ A dark voice whispers to him. 

This new revelation allows him to breathe easier, confidence brimming in his core. 

“You’re names Cole right?” Daryl scowls, his voice gaining strength. “You’re the idiot who can’t shoot for shit. You’ve got a subtle lazy left eye and ya have trouble hitting targets on that side.” 

The smile instantly vanishes from the guys face. “How the fuck do ya know that?” 

“And Mark,” Daryl jerks his chin over to the man flanking Cole. “You got arthritis in your fingers hence why ya don’t like to carry any of the haul back to the Sanctuary.” 

They both inch forward menacingly, with matching looks of adherence on their faces. 

If there was one thing Daryl knew it was to never underestimate the enemy. The second he joined their group he’s been watching them. Noticing this slights, weeding out who were the best fighters and who weren’t. 

It was almost too easy. 

“What I lack in conversation I make up in stealth,” Daryl sneers. “There’s a reason I’m the best bowman in the Sanctuary. I’ve got two rules: no stealing and no backtalk neither, ya’ll can either follow my lead or ya can find another profession to win points. ” 

The men quietly dispersed, grabbing their equipment and the weapons that they needed. Daryl watches them, his eyes haunting Cole’s footsteps. There is no doubt he will be a problem for Daryl. 

It’s only a matter of time to cleve him from the herd.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I do love House of Cards :) 
> 
> A big thanks to Iloveyousunshine for editing this chapter! Phew it was a douzy to write.
> 
> Thoughts?


	3. My lamb and martyr, you look so precious

~*~

 _You’re Welcome, Presley_.

~*~

And then there were other things.

Among the vast ocean of sour grapes and ambiguous shapes, monsters melting in a sea of lilac. Daryl doesn’t understand how he got here, doesn’t particularly care anymore.

All that matter is what is.

Here and now, present tense and what not. Being in charge doesn’t _fit_ right, like shoes on the wrong feet or using gloves instead of socks or pretending a spoon can cut like a knife.

It’s all so horrifically _wrong_.

The men know it, see it in his hesitation or stuttering breathes. The way he moves like he isn’t quite sure what steps to take next. During hunting he never used to second-guess himself, now that’s all he does.

Few are kind, many are cruel.

Daryl stumbles around in the darkness trying to lead the men towards the light. Cole is especially malevolent, questioning his order or disobeying his command.

Maybe mewling Merle was right.

All men are pack animals, they follow the Alpha and skitter to do his bidding. Something drastic needs to happen.

Ever since he exposed Cole and Mark they’ve become especially hostil. Which isn’t surprising or even unexpected, Daryl knew they would react that way.

 _Stupid, snivelling, bastard_ —he hates the lot of them. They’re so damn predictable and the worse thing about predictability was that the next move was always anticipated.

He was ready for them, waiting for Cole and Mark to attack.

Daryl felt Joe crawling under his skin, day by day the transition between the two became easier and easier. Some days like today he felt uncomfortable in his position.

However that would soon fade.

Mind separates from body, lifting to new and unbound heights.

~

Night-time belongs to Rick.

And drifting in the sea of the past. Daryl lingers there for hours. Time suspends, he is weightless dreaming fruitlessly.

Rick is naked this time,  floating in the sky. Wispy wind drifts around his face and his eyes seem luminous against the moon’s corna.

 _Let me be_ , he screams.

There is no sound in this world. Rick remains watching over him from the heavens, mouthing pretty words with his hands stretched out like an offering.

When he wakes its dawn.

Daryl dresses quickly, showering in the communal bathrooms and tying his hair in a tight ponytail. Once he leaves his bedroom he walks stiffly to the cafeteria.

People stop to stare at him.

At the ant who thinks it’s a bee. Daryl understands why, he’s risen above his station, flown high without wings and a weapon.

The cook doesn’t spit in his food anymore and the men don’t leer like they used to. Everything has fallen into some strange semblance of order, where they fear the wrath of Negan more than fucking with him.

Daryl doesn’t care, grabs a seat near the corner rather than sitting with his own men.

Breakfast passes without an incident and Daryl goes to the usual meeting place. He is the first one there like always, most of the men trickle in a few seconds later.

Cole makes it a point to show up at the last minute.

Throughout the day Daryl is distracted, thoughts of Rick fill his mind and he misses his target twice.

 _Damnit_ — he sneers at himself. _Get it together Dixon_.

They were a stupid love story doomed to fail. _They had nothing_ . Daryl’s heart revolts at the thought. _They had everything_.

“Dixon,” Cole barks, his face twists in an ugly frown. “You’re off your game today.”

Daryl nods but doesn’t stop moving.

“Somethin’ we should be concerned ‘bout?”

“No.”

Cole scoffs. “Ya always were the quiet one. Which makes everythin’ with Merle so fuckin’ sad.”

Daryl pauses, his slant eyes scrutinizing Cole. “What’s he done?”

“Oh,” Cole grins wickedly. “Guess ya ain’t heard yet.”

Dary remains calm and silent waiting for the rest.

“Well, he went out with a few group of Negan’s men to track some colony of woman one of the other men were yackin’ ‘bout. They stole fifteen weapons and six food packets, not to mention medical supplies. Negan is demanding blood.”

 _The fucking idiot_ , Daryl nearly hisses. Merle just can’t help himself. It was so damn typical he could have laughed. Instead his frown deepens and he turns around sharply. “Let’s head back.”

“Ay captain,” Cole mutters sarcastically.

By the time they get back to the compound Daryl is steaming. What in the hell possessed Merle to steal from Negan? Of all people the fucking leader.

Fear spikes up his spine as he walks brusquely to Negan’s headquarters. They both watched Negan beat men to death for doing less than stealing, the punishment for that kind of shit was branding with a iron or worse.

Merle fucking _knew_ that.

Everybody knew the punishments, they were drilled into their brains the moment Negan stepped into power.

Once Daryl reaches the dual doors of Negan’s room he is a ball of nerves. The path before him is simple: He would go in there and beg for Merle’s life. That’s it. No deviations and he would accept whatever came next. He knocks on the door quietly.

“Come in,” Negan drawls.

Daryl enters, his face flaming and sweat accumulating on his brow.

“What a nice surprise,” Negan leans back in his plush chair, his copper eyes hard and unyielding in their gaze.

“Ya know why I’m here.”

“For Merle,” Negan taps his pen against the paper.

“Yes,” Daryl says. “Whatever the punishment is I’ll take it. He didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Merle can be a dumb animal sometimes.”

Negan chuckles. “Well, that dumb animal stole food, guns and medical supplies.”

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” Daryl says through clenched teeth.

Silence floods the room. Then Negan stands from his chair and walks towards Daryl, his movements like a sleek cat. “Ya ever wonder why if a tiger is caught in a trap it’ll chew it’s own leg off? I do. Sometimes it’s all I think about in times like these. I’d rather be half alive than captured, if ya catch my drift.”

Daryl held his ground, but they were standing so close, he could even feel Negan’s breath fan his face.

Then the bastard place his hand on the other side of the door and leaned in..

“I’ve admired you for a long time Daryl. Now, most guys know I ain’t into that faggoty shit, but a man has needs. Especially since I’ve seen how you took care of those _needs_ with Len.” Negan smiles. “Plus, your hair is so long from behind you look like a girl anyhow.”

Those words were poison, twisting like black tar in his veins.

 _Never again_ , he had sworn after Len. Daryl would never spread his fucking legs for the promise of protection or anything else.

His skin crawls when Negan touches a few strands of hair framing his face. “For a man you are exceptionally…. _pretty_ ….”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

Negan’s grin widens.

Daryl steps away from him and takes a deep breath. “Like I said. Whatever Merle’s punishment is I’ll take it.”

More silence, and then finally Negan relents. “Alright, three days without food. Usually there would be a public flogging, but what can I say….I’m sweet on you.”

Daryl nods gratefully.

“I’m a patient man. You know I don’t stand for rape or any of the other unGodly shit that Len did to you...I’ll wait until you come to me.”

“Fat chance,” Daryl spits vehemently.

Negan smiles and behind that smile is something so devious Daryl has to leave the room.

~

There is a dead squirrel nailed to his door.

Thick blood trickles down his door knob with a knife dead center in the rodents face. _Miss your mark_ , is crudely written beside it. Daryl snatches the animal down quickly hiding it in his backpack.

He opens the door and Merle is there sitting on his bed.

“Who’d piss off this time little brother?” Merle says loudly, too loudly.

“What the fuck has gotten into ya?” Daryl explodes, tossing the dead animal in the corner and slamming the door shut. “Ya stole from fuckin’ Negan? Of all people?”

“Yeah,” Merle replies lazily and Daryl knows immediately that he is high.

“Get out.”

“C’mon don’t be like that.” Merle shrugs, stumbling his way out of the room and stands in the doorway. “Ya ain’t selling yer ass anymore. It because of me we got this far….even that damn promotion is my doing...you should be grateful.”

It's all so damn typical, he thinks snidely.

The drugs, the blame, the fucking stench that is Merle Dixon. 

Daryl can't stand it. More lies, flowing like milk and honey. God, when would it end? Like a snake eating its own tail, it was a vicious cycle. The longer Merle stood, ranting and raving, the more he hardened his heart once again. 

In this he was alone, all alone with his hatred. 

For years it was like that. Merle has done nothing but sell him into prostitution and forced him to give up the only person he ever loved. The only person worthy of love. Now there is nothing left, only ashes in his mouth. 

Daryl shoves Merle out of his room, then slams the door in his face.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update :( 
> 
> This chapter is not edited all the mistakes are my alone.
> 
> Thoughts?


	4. **IMPORTANT A/N***

Wow.

Where do I begin? The last 365 days have been a total whirlwind.

It's honestly hard to believe it's been a full year since I became a published author. Since that was the one thing I wanted to be since I was 8 years old, I never thought I would be able to achieve that at 26. But- I owe it all to all of you. Thank you, Elvis is now available on Kindle for free! With stunning new characters and an alternate ending.

Many of you don't know this but if it wasn't for all of the continued support, I probably wouldn't have followed through with actually publishing my book. Putting my writing out there was scary... it still is. Two years ago, I took a gamble and posted on AO3 how I was near completion of my very first book I would want to publish. Only a few reacted to the post and I thought to myself, "who is even going to read this thing?"

I questioned my writing and the idea of publishing it for a while. Then as I dove deeper into my novel, I decided to publish the first chapter unedited on my blog to see what would happen. I don't know what I was expecting - well, I do, I was expecting people to not even read it.

So, when so many people reached out saying they wanted to read more, I was in a state of disbelief.

Those of you who have supported me and this story please leave your names and a review on amazon.com. The link will be posted blow.

******https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CZZSDRB*******

 

Also leave a review on Goodreads! 


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